Tiny Tales of Terror - The Chalkboard

-

 Hey, Marlon, did you write on my board again? I told you it's only for groceries.' 

'No, Mum.'

I rubbed it out, certain that Marlon was fibbing. The chalkboard hung on high on the wall by the fridge, and I didn't want him to keep climbing on the barstool to reach it. I rubbed out the stupid message - "GET OUT" and thought no more about it- at least, until the next day, when I saw another message written - "Get out now!"
'Marlon,' I said. 'I told you. If you keep on scrawling on it, I'll take away your PlayStation. It's not your board.'
I hid the chalk at the back of the kitchen drawer, but I thought Marlon must have found and hung it back up because, on the third day, the message said, "Beware - it will kill you," Only this time the writing was all flowery and ornate, nothing like my Marlon's. I tore the board down and threw it in the trash can.
I thought that would be the end of it, but when I came into the kitchen on the fifth day, I found the board fixed up on the wall again, showing just one word - "Run."

That night we left the flat to stay at my mum's house, and in the early hours of the following morning, our block of flats burnt down, killing three families. I guess I'll never know why we were spared? But one thing I do know - if you ever get a warning like Marlon and me, make sure you listen. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tiny Tales of Terror: Rockpool

-
Image
 My sister scours the rockpools at dusk just as the sun makes its evening journey over the horizon. She is barefoot, her long, straggly hair draping over the back of her t-shirt and skimming the waist of her shorts. She is searching for crabs or tiny fish left behind by the tide. I do not see her face, or the fear I imagine flashes through her eyes as she stumbles. Her head makes contact with a jagged rock and plunges face-first into cold salty water. I stay by my window. By the time I have run down to save her, I know she will already be dead, and as I reach the edge of the  rockpools, her ghost will have faded away. 
Read more

Tiny Tales of Terror: The High Chair

-
Image
I open up 'the Daisy Chain' each morning at 9am and it takes about an hour to clean before the chefs come in. The cafe caters for yummy mummies and ladies who lunch - you know the type. Before I started, it was known as 'Jennys.' It closed and rebranded, but still sold dishes I could never afford. I used to zip around with the hoover in no time, but now the customer numbers are growing and so is their rubbish. Anyway, I go in one morning and there's this highchair thrown down in the middle of the restaurant. So I blame Nicky, the night cleaner. Next day, the same thing has happened again, and on the third day, the highchair is up on one of the tables. A week later and it's still moving around the cafe and I'm sick of it. I call Nicky and he tells me 'Get rid of that goddamn highchair. A year ago, a little kid choked to death in the restaurant, and that's why they renamed it the Daisy Chain.'
Read more

The Girl who fell to Earth

-
Image
  Me and Kim were ‘the hot chicks of Carshalton,’ holding out for handsome hunks.  We dreamt of Jacuzzis  and Michelin star restaurants – not an oik offering chips and a pie by the ponds. I knew Nathan liked me because he was always in the Co-op buying scratch cards. He’d lurk in the street when my shift finished - just passing, obvs.  Or I’d bump into him in the coffee shop, and he’d pester me for dates. Of course, I’d turn him down. Sweet, but not my type. On the night (when I almost die), me and Kim head off to karaoke at The Woodman. Rain’s falling like nails, but we never miss a sess. We’re halfway through Abba when in slopes, Nathan. “Hi, Kath,” he says. “Can I buy you a drink?” “Sure,” I say, playing it cool. “I’ll have a vodka and coke, and Kim wants a cider.” “OK,” he says. Me and Kim shimmy away and sing our hearts out to Little Mix. Eventually, we go back over to Nathan. “You clocked the weather?” he says. “Reckon the ponds will flood. Better not stay too late.”
Read more